My Arse, John, My Arse
by Gameson221b
Summary: "John!" At his shout, John spun around to face him. "Sherlock? What's wrong?" "I've been shot."


"It was a dark and stormy night," John muttered as he shook the rain from his jacket. The weather and Sherlock's tetchy mood irritated him as much as a serious lack of sleep.

"I'm sorry?"

John glanced up at Sherlock, a smile forming on his lips as he gazed at the long, pale neck glistening with raindrops. It was amazing how all at the same time he could be annoyed by his partner and entranced by the sight of him. Brilliant.

"It's...nothing, Sherlock, just thinking aloud." John knew that the man beside him, the love of his life and the bane of his existence, didn't believe him. Sherlock Holmes was a constant confusion of contradictions. He shook his head at his inadvertent collection of consonants, huffing at his own humor.

Sherlock said nothing, fixing him with his knowing stare.

John ignored the look. "Don't," John warned.

Strolling the long hallway that led to Greg Lestrade's office, their strides in sync despite the difference in leg length, Sherlock entered without benefit of a knock.

"Have you forgotten how to knock?" Lestrade asked, leaning back in his chair, but, John noticed, not without a barely concealed smile.

Sherlock and Lestrade engaged in a staring contest until John cleared his throat and dropped into a chair in front of the desk. Sherlock won by default when the DI looked away. John's work was done.

"Can we get on with this?" Sherlock asked without bothering to mask his annoyance. John frowned at his rude attitude.

"How are you, John?"

"Looking forward to a hot shower and twenty-four hours in a warm bed."

Lestrade rolled his eyes, "A bit grumpy, yeah? Well, then, here are the reports, all you have to do is sign them."

John signed without reading a single word. Sherlock, as was his nature, read every last word, for accuracy, earning John's exasperated sigh. He leaned his head against the back of the chair and closed his eyes. In the years with Sherlock, John had become quite good at resting and listening while waiting for the consulting detective to do what he did best.

"Watch yourselves. There are still two unaccounted for and there is no way of knowing where they are or what they may be up to."

"We can take care of ourselves, Greg," Sherlock stated, his annoyance obvious even to John in his lethargy.

"Is there something I'm missing here? Have you two had a domestic?"

Greg said no more when John shot him his best glare. Rubbing his palm over his chin, Greg paused, then stood. "Right then. That will do it."

John was on his feet in an instant. Sherlock unfolded himself from his chair to stand at his side.

"Thank you for coming in and thank you for helping with the case. I appreciate your help, as always."

John nodded, moving away to wait at the door for Sherlock to display his displeasure. As expected, Sherlock scowled at Greg, then swept from the office, striding toward the exit like a runway model. He smiled at the image in his head. Drama queen, yeah.

"Watch yourselves, please," Greg called out to them. John fluttered his hand over his head as he followed Sherlock to the lift.

~0~

"Why is my brother here?" Sherlock shouted as he stepped out of the cab.

The official car of the British Government sat at the kerb, lights on, engine running.

"Yoohoo, Sherlock, John," Mrs. Hudson called as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. "I've some cakes for you."

Sherlock acknowledged her with a wave. It was just enough to take their attention away from their surroundings, and in their line of work, it was a dangerous miscalculation.

"Stay where you are Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson won't get hurt."

Sherlock turned slowly to see an arm around John's neck and a gun held to his head. On his periphery he observed the door to their flat close without a sound. Surely Mrs. Hudson had understood the situation and would call Lestrade, Mycroft, or both.

The boot popped open as a second man exited the car. The man, Sherlock observed, was not as confident as he pretended. His hand shook as he used his gun to beckon Sherlock closer to the rear of the car.

"Your phone and your weapon, Mr. Holmes."

"I have no weapon." he said, handing over his phone, and glancing toward John, hoping his doctor would not try to disarm the man holding the gun. "We have just returned from NSY where we had no need of a weapon, although perhaps that was a mistake on my part and one to amend on future sojourns.

The man frowned as though he hadn't understood a word the detective said, searched Sherlock's person, then gestured toward the car with his gun. "Get in."

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at John before climbing into the boot, hoping John would not attempt a rescue. Expecting the lid to be closed immediately, he was at once surprised and relieved a moment later when John appeared above him, and then angered when the doctor was pushed in, his head striking the edge of the boot with a stomach turning thump. John groaned once and lay still.

"John," Sherlock whispered, quickly surrounding him with his body and pulling him back to avoid further injury.

Plunged into darkness when the boot was shut, Sherlock patted the doctor's coat pockets, searching for the small torch John always carried. Once located, he held it close to but not directly on John's face.

Sherlock immediately saw the blood at John's hairline. Although the wound was not serious, it produced a copious amount of blood because of its location. Searching his own coat, he produced a pocket square he'd appropriated months ago from John's never used collection to stanch the flow.

Pulling his doctor closer, the detective positioned his feet to keep the two of them relatively stable and an arm to cradle John's head. Despite limited space, and Sherlock's precaution, John rolled back against him when the car, which had moved forward, suddenly stopped. It was then that Sherlock discovered the gun still tucked into the waistband of John's trousers.

It was but a few minutes longer before John moaned as consciousness found him again. Sherlock allowed himself a sigh of relief.

"Easy," Sherlock whispered against John's ear. "Keep your voice down."

"Sherlock?" John whispered.

"We've been kidnapped, John, by two rather inept idiots."

After a long silence, John turned his head. "So, not Mycroft, then?"

Despite the situation, Sherlock chuckled, more to keep John at ease than himself.

"Well, certainly Mycroft can be an idiot, but not this time. I believe we let our guard down after being warned by Greg not to do so."

"The two who got away?"

"Yes, the very same."

"What do we do now?"

"Nothing, for now. I haven't yet devised an escape plan, but we'll allow them to drive us to wherever it is they intend to hold us."

John turned his head to face Sherlock. "I am reminded of the situation with the cabbie, but I don't suppose we have a choice at the moment."

"Ah, but there is always a choice, my dear Dr. Watson."

As his words fell away, Sherlock realized his slip of the tongue. John's silence and the way his body tensed was like a slice of regret across his heart. He knew John's thoughts: Bart's, that day that they rarely speak of now. Sherlock adjusted his fingers; John hissed at the unexpected increased pressure to his wound.

"Sorry."

"How so?"

"What?"

"What choice do we have?"

Shaking off the sudden sour taste of shame in his throat, Sherlock turned the torch to highlight the yellow handle above their heads.

"I don't think they thought about the emergency release." He held up John's gun. "Nor did they think to search you for a weapon."

"Idiots," the doctor replied with a brief laugh. "So we just jump out when they slow down?"

"A reasonable plan if you're up to it."

Sherlock lifted the cloth from John's head. "The bleeding has slowed. It's not very deep, but I think I should apply pressure on it for a bit longer, yes?"

"Wouldn't hurt," John mumbled. "I can apply pressure now."

"No, I will. This is rather intimate, don't you think?"

"Sherlock," John said in his warning voice followed by a brief giggle.

The detective leaned down to drop a kiss to John's mouth. John curled his palm around Sherlock's neck to prolong the contact.

Forgiven. Again.

And so they waited.

~0~

They'd travelled close to an hour, but with no way of knowing which direction they'd taken, Sherlock could only guess where they were, and he never guessed. Well...

"Reduced speed, John. We may be coming to our destination."

Turning on the torch, he examined John's wound and found the bleeding stopped.

"How are you feeling, John?"

"All right. I have a bit of a headache, but nothing serious."

Sherlock squeezed John's arm. "We'll need to be ready. The moment I pull that yellow handle, they will know."

"Okay."

"Are you certain you're all right?"

"Yes, Sherlock, don't worry."

"I'm not worried," he lied. "And we stay together."

"Yes, of course we stay together. Why are we whispering? I don't think they can hear us."

"A precaution, John."

John rolled his eyes. "Oh-kay."

Sherlock recognized the deepening signs of sleep deprivation. While he easily functioned on little sleep, John did not. Sherlock knew the few minutes rest in Lestrade's office was far from enough to keep John alert. And, Sherlock worried, the knock to his head might also hinder their escape.

"Are you ready, John?" Sherlock whispered against John's ear as he turned off the torch and tucked it into his pocket.

John gripped his arm. "Ready when you are."

"Are you sure?"

Even without benefit of the torch, Sherlock knew John glared at him. John's silence said more than any lecture.

As they waited in the darkness, raised voices from inside the car warned them that all was not well with their captors.

"We were to drive them around for a while. Killing them was not part of the plan."

"Why is there so much traffic?"

The car slowed.

"I don't know, maybe there's an accident ahead."

"They've seen us, I don't want to go to jail. What if we let them go and we disappear, maybe leave the country."

Sherlock patted John's shoulder. "Now is as good a time as any. On three?"

"On three."

"One," Sherlock whispered.

"Two," John whispered back.

"Three," they said together.

Sherlock pulled the yellow lever. The boot opened with a pop. John jumped, caught his foot and tumbled out, falling to his hands and knees with a grunt. Sherlock followed, twisting his long body to avoid falling on top of him.

Hoisting the doctor to his feet, Sherlock pushed John ahead of him. Even as they ran, Sherlock noticed they were on a bridge that should have been familiar, but in his haste to keep John from protected, there was no time to identify it. A glance over his shoulder was enough for Sherlock to see their captors exit the car to follow them.

"Into the trees, John," Sherlock ordered, keeping himself behind John as a shield if the two idiot kidnappers decided to shoot at them.

John obeyed, bursting through a stand of trees and down the slope from the road, turning hard to the right. Just as Sherlock thought they were out of range, he heard a shot, much like a gun with suppressor.

"John!"

At his shout, John spun around to face him. "Sherlock? What's wrong?"

"I've been shot."

~0~

John's heart raced. "Where?"

His face flushed with something close to panic, Sherlock stared at John for several long seconds.

"Sherlock?"

"My arse, John, my arse," Sherlock yelped as he tried to lift his great coat. "Is there much blood, John?"

Stepping behind the detective, John inspected the back of his coat.

"Ow!"

John held the offending dart so Sherlock could see it, then rolled it into the bloody pocket square and tucked it into his side pocket. With any luck, he wouldn't stab himself.

"It's a tranquilliser dart, Sherlock, not a bullet. They were too far away for deep penetration, but some will have gotten into your bloodstream. You snatched one of my pocket squares, and I don't want to hear you say it was for an experiment or for science.

"Okay," Sherlock said in a voice befitting a naughty child.

Thundering footsteps forced John to react with the only option available to them. Wrapping one sturdy hand around Sherlock's wrist, he pulled him along.

"John?"

"Just keep moving, Sherlock. Trust me."

"Where are we going?"

"We need a place to hide."

"Why?"

John stopped their forward movement to listen for a few seconds and to hug Sherlock to himself.

"Because," John whispered close to Sherlock's cheek. "In just a short time you may not be able to walk. And you may fall asleep or unconscious."

"Ohhh," Sherlock said in an exaggerated whisper. "Not good?"

"No, not good at all."

"Bugger."

Patting Sherlock's cheek to get his attention, John pointed up. The detective followed the line of his finger and groaned.

"Climb, Sherlock, as fast as you can."

"Come with me, John."

"I'll be right behind you. Try to stay away from the bare ground so we don't leave a trail to lead them directly to us."

"Yes, John."

Their luck held when they reached the edge of the water, leaving the vegetation and their footsteps behind. Climbing the cement was easier, especially for Sherlock as he increasingly exhibited loss of muscle strength. By the time they reached the underside of the bridge, his normally graceful movements were sluggish and awkward.

"There's just enough room for us, I think. Crawl in and move as far back as you can."

"John. I can't. I'm starting to...to-"

"Shite. Too fast, it's working too fast. Can't do anything in the normal way, can you? You are such an anomaly, Sherlock Holmes."

"Thaaank que, Jaaawwn?"

"It's okay, Sherlock. Keep moving back. Hurry."

Sherlock was so wobbly John had to push him into the small space to make room for himself. It was one of only a few occasions in his life that John was pleased to be small.

Under the bridge they were out of the rain and their clothes were moderately dry. The air temperature also was on their side, although John expected it to get colder as the night wore on. They would have to rely on each other's body heat, something he knew Sherlock would find acceptable even if he became too disoriented to realize anything else.

As though his genius detective could read his thoughts, and John sometimes wasn't so sure he couldn't, Sherlock reached for him, curling his long, slender fingers around John's hand.

John leaned over Sherlock to check on his level of awareness. He feared using the torch might give away their location, so he had to forego visual and rely on auditory responses.

"We are going to have to whisper, so we don't give ourselves away."

"Yessss."

John pressed his lips against Sherlock's ear. "How are you feeling?"

Turning his ear to Sherlock's lips, he waited for a reply.

"Foggy in my brainnn, Juh-ohn. I can't finne my mind palaces."

John kissed Sherlock's mouth. "That's okay for now. Once the drug leaves your body, you'll be fine."

"Sure?"

"I'm a doctor, Sherlock," he whispered against Sherlock's mouth.

"Yes, but sometiiimes you lie-eye to me so I don't f-f-fret," Sherlock whispered back against John's mouth.

"I don't lie to you, Sherlock. And you don't fret."

"Troooo, and I nevvv-er guessss."

"Right."

Having his lips held hostage by Sherlock Holmes was not unusual or uncomfortable, and he'd always enjoyed those occasions, but this time, the image of a baby elephant trunk sucking at his lips was more than he wanted to think about.

Scuffling sounds beyond their hiding place forced John to pull away and lay his palm over Sherlock's shoulder. He shushed against the detective's ear, receiving a quick nod of understanding in return.

Reaching to his back for his weapon, John held it at the ready, against his thigh, pointed outward. He could hear agitated voices, but not any recognisable words. Soon the voices faded into the distance, but soldier John warned they would return. Careful not to disturb any debris that might slide down the cement and give away their position, John backed away from the edge and turned toward Sherlock.

"Okay?"

"F-fine, Jo-"."

Pressing his lips against Sherlock's ear once more, his whisper barely a breath. "Don't fib, Sherlock."

"Jaaawwn."

John clamped his palm over Sherlock's mouth when he forgot to whisper. "Shh, I don't know where they are, but I know they aren't far away. You have to whisper."

Long fingers reached for him. Even in the dark, John sensed his fear and knew at once it was the lack of control that frightened the great detective. Sherlock Holmes rarely showed fear; that he did in their present situation, set John on edge. Holding the torch between them and low to the ground, John switched it on only long enough to see Sherlock's face.

Eyes blown wide and the bluest he'd ever seen, like a terrified child waking from a nightmare, like himself waking from one of his own nightmares, Sherlock trembled in the dark. John curled up next to him, holding Sherlock close for comfort and to share body heat.

"Jaaawwn."

Sherlock's slurred speech indicated that at least some of the drug was in his system. He had pulled the dart out just seconds after it penetrated Sherlock's muscle, perhaps quickly enough to interrupt some of the flow and lessen the effects. John knew it was too much to hope for that Sherlock just whined about the indignity of it all.

"Jaaawwn."

"I'm here, Sherlock. You have to whisper."

Sherlock wrapped wobbly arms around his neck for an awkward hug. The last thing John needed right then was an amorous Sherlock. When the impossibly gorgeous mouth landed on his ear, John realised Sherlock was trying to whisper to him.

"Jaaawwn, I kin not f-feel my legggs."

"It's okay, Sherlock."

"No, Jaaawwn, that...is not g-good."

"Shush."

Whether it was an animal or the men returning, John couldn't tell, but he covered Sherlock's mouth with his palm, leaning over him as he did so. The detective stilled, barely breathing.

Whatever the disturbance, it faded away again. Once more John risked turning on the torch, this time to check on Sherlock's pupils. No change, but as he pulled away from Sherlock, the beam of light flashed across the wall behind them.

Their hiding place was deeper than he'd first thought. John climbed over Sherlock's prone body to investigate.

"Jaaawwn...no...s-stay...no alone," Sherlock pleaded in a ragged whisper.

"Shh, it's okay. Trust me Sherlock. I promise I won't leave you, I promise."

"Oh."

On his knees, John wrapped his arms around his partner's chest from behind, dragging Sherlock deeper into the darkness. He was dead weight, but the doctor called upon every ounce of strength to keep Sherlock safe.

"I'm going back to get my gun, Sherlock. You have to be very quiet."

"Shh," Sherlock said in a loud whisper. "Be vewy, vewy quiet."

John grinned, even though he knew Sherlock couldn't see him.

"Good. Very, very quiet for just a minute."

Making barely a sound, John retrieved the pistol and returned in what he guessed was thirty seconds. He reached out to find Sherlock as fidgety fingers found him.

"I'm here. It's okay."

"Jaaawwn."

"Shh. Try to rest, Sherlock."

John found a wall where he could sit and support his back. One last time he took hold of Sherlock and dragged him farther away from the opening and between his legs, his chest to Sherlock's back. Removing the Belstaff was almost his undoing, but once it was done, John unfastened his own coat and cradled Sherlock against his chest, covering them both with the great coat. Soon Sherlock's head dropped back against John's shoulder. He sighed, turning to press his forehead to John's cheek.

"Jaaawwn?"

"Are your warm enough?"

"Yesss."

"Good."

"Jaaawwn?"

"Rest, Sherlock."

"Jaaawwn?"

"Shush," John whispered, kissing Sherlock's soft curls.

"Why dooo I...wha...happened? Why do I...why am I...numb?"

John hesitated for a time, finally crossing his arms over Sherlock's chest, holding him tight. Nudging the soft cheek with his nose prompted the desired response. Sherlock turned his head to allow John to speak into his ear.

"Sherlock, I know you're worried."

"N-nuh-uh."

"You're afraid."

"N-no."

"What then?"

"I have not tole you I looove you ta-day. I wan' you-oo t'know."

No matter how much Sherlock denied it, and tried to mask it with an annoyed tone, John heard the fear in the subtext of Sherlock's words. He raised his lips to kiss Sherlock's ear.

"And I love you. Nothing is going to happen. Listen to me, love. Remember when she drugged you? The Woman? I think this is the same kind of stuff. It made you feel faint and your muscles weak and you slept for hours. Do you remember that?"

Sherlock's vigorous nod made John smile.

"Keta-a-a-mine?"

"Maybe."

"Not goo-d."

"It will pass, Sherlock, but I remember the last time you were very chatty when you were awake, so you have to be quiet."

"I prom-iss I'll be quiet," Sherlock murmured in his familiar sulky voice.

"I know, and I'll help you."

"Jaaawwn," Sherlock said so softly it was almost a sigh.

"Yes?"

"Dooo yooo 'ave g-gun?"

"Right beside me."

"Jaaawwn?"

"Yes, my love."

"Tiii-ter?"

"Okay."

John held Sherlock tighter, Sherlock sighed, and just a few minutes later, he drifted off.

"Sleep as well as you can, my love. I'll keep watch."

~0~

Sherlock slept deeply for barely an hour. He awoke with a start and a grunt, but no vocal outburst only because John clamped his hand over his mouth just in time.

"Shh. You have to be quiet, Sherlock. Wait, did you just lick my hand?"

"No?"

"Don't fib, Sherlock."

He felt Sherlock nod against his chest. Turning his head, John kissed his temple. "Thank you."

"Love you. Sor-ry...I fell...asleep."

"I love you, too, and it's okay if you fall asleep."

"You are rea-lly hannnn-some, Jaaawwn."

"Thanks, love."

"Do you think I'm hannn-some?"

"I think you're beautiful."

"Not b-beautiful," Sherlock said, his voice a bit louder and more childlike. The effects of the drug, whatever it was, John was sure.

"Shh, you have to be quiet." He reminded Sherlock again with a finger across his lips. "In my world a man can be beautiful, because you're beautiful and you're a man. It's pretty simple to someone as ordinary as I am, so..."

"No, you...are not...ordinary. N-Never." He kissed John's finger.

An affectionate Sherlock was nothing new to John, and for both of them, affection was never taken for granted. It still did funny things to his heart, and other things, but he couldn't afford to lose sight of their predicament. Since Sherlock was not in his best mind, he would be of little help. In the morning, once the drug had dissipated more from Sherlock's system, they could make their escape. Surely a genius in a befuddled state was infinitely more clever than two idiots.

"Okay?"

"Numb."

"Anything else?"

"Mind palace disss-torted."

"What else?"

"I m-missss you."

John held him tighter with one arm, stroking his cheek with his free hand. "I'm right here. I'll hold onto you. I won't let you go."

"Oh-kay," Sherlock murmurred. "Oh-kay, I will help you keep-pah watch."

"Thank you. I could use the company."

"Jaaawwn?"

"Right here."

"I lovvve you."

"Yes, and I love you, my precious genius."

Sherlock chortled, softly, nuzzling at John's chin.

John sighed. He had to stay awake and alert until dawn, just-he glanced at the illuminated dial of his watch-seven hours away. That would be thirty-six hours without sleep. He shook his head. He didn't want to think about it.

~0~

A persistent tugging on John's arm startled him awake. Sherlock still lay against his chest, his mouth against John's ear.

"John."

"Sherlock? Are you all right?" He noticed at once the way Sherlock pronounced his name.

"Better, not so foggy. My extremities, spasms are lessening. Tongue still feels a bit big for my mouth, though. Mind palace is still closed, but I think the drug is dissipating now."

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two hours. I was able to stay awake for a time, so I let you sleep."

Sherlock slipped the gun into John's hand.

"Thanks, what time is it?"

Instead of looking at his own watch, Sherlock grasped John's wrist. "Just after three."

"Any chance they've left?

"I don't know, John. Just a short time ago I heard police and loud voices, but it's been quiet for the last few minutes."

John squeezed Sherlock's hand. "I'm sorry. I was supposed to-"

"It's all right, John. You are exhausted and needed to sleep."

John pressed his lips to his love's cheek. Sherlock responded by leaning into the kiss and John thought he heard a soft sigh.

"Do you think you can walk?"

"I don't know, John. P-Perhaps it would be best to wait for daylight before attempting to leave here."

"Okay, we wait."

"Tea?" Sherlock asked, squeezing John's thigh.

John chuckled, then remembered having warned Sherlock to be quiet. "Shh. Idiot."

"Whooo? Who's an idiot?"

Kissing the nape of Sherlock's neck, he grinned when Sherlock shivered. "Me, love. I need to shush as much as you do."

"John, don't call yourself an idiot. Thass...that's my privilege."

"Yes, yes, it is, my love."

"You are my loving idiot, John. Don't ever forrr-get that."

"How could-"

Sherlock stiffened in his arms, sat up straight.

"What is it? Sherlock, are you all right?"

"Hush, John, listen."

"Voices?"

"Mmm."

John closed one hand over his gun, immediately prepared for any eventuality while keeping his other arm around Sherlock's chest.

"They're getting closer," Sherlock whispered, his speech, though slower, close to normal again.

"Sherlock, can you hear what they're saying?"

"Not yet.

"Listen harder, genius."

Sherlock chuckled, patting his hand.

"Sorry."

Neither spoke for the next several minutes until they heard the voices from just outside their hiding place. Edging off to the side to give them the element of surprise if whoever was out there decided to search more closely, John took the forward position to protect Sherlock.

"John, no!"

~0~

"Sherlock? John?"

"Mycroft?" John and Sherlock said at the same time.

"Stay here, Sherlock. I'm going to have a look."

"John."

"Don't worry, I'll be careful."

"John?"

John turned back toward Sherlock. Two frantic hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him forward. Sherlock smashed his mouth against John's, lips and teeth colliding painfully. The doctor gave as good as he got until Sherlock finally pulled back to touch their foreheads together.

"It's okay, Sherlock. If it's really your brother, we're safe, if it isn't, we'll shoot our way out."

"John, you are joking, aren't you?"

"Now who's an idiot? Of course I'm joking."

"Be careful."

"I will."

Gun in hand, John crawled toward their only exit. Settling just inside, John listened. Stretching as far as he dared, he peered out, and as he did so, Sherlock crawled in next to him, holding him back with a strong hand on his shoulder.

The second time they heard their names called, it was from very near.

"That's Mycroft. I'm sure of it."

John scooted back from the edge and turned toward Sherlock. "And Greg. I saw him."

John crawled out and stood in the open. "Here, up here," he called.

"Are you both all right?" Lestrade called back.

Sherlock sat on the edge of the opening. "We're fine, Mycroft."

"Where are they?" John called down to them.

"They were apprehended just minutes ago," Greg replied as he climbed up to them. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Sherlock took a tranquilliser dart to the-"

"Leg. It's nearly dissipated now, John. Let's go home."

John held back a smile as he helped Sherlock to his feet. Quickly hiding the gun that they didn't talk about, he held onto Sherlock's arm, doubting those long legs were steady enough to climb down the slippery cement.

"Greg, could you help us down? Sherlock is still a bit wobbly."

"Yeah, right."

John caught Greg's sly grin when Sherlock pulled his arm away and the consulting detective's sour expression when Lestrade refused to be put off.

Near the bottom, Sherlock shrugged off both men, promptly lost his footing and fell painfully on his arse. Lestrade stepped aside to stand next to Mycroft. John squatted in front of Sherlock to block his line of sight and to protect his dignity. When he finally looked up, John was the only one who observed the hurt in those pale eyes.

"I'll help you up, love."

"John?"

"I know, Sherlock. It's all right, no one will know but us, I promise."

~0~

As the official car pulled away, Sherlock glanced out the window.

"York Bridge, Sherlock."

"What?"

"Surely you recognised your surroundings?"

John responded immediately to Mycroft's reproach. "It was the least of our worries at the time, Mycroft. Sherlock was hurt and I had to find a safe place for us to hide. There was very little time to examine our surroundings."

"Yes, I can imagine."

John leaned forward. "Back off Mycroft. Neither of us needs a lecture from you."

"But, since I have you captive for just a few minutes longer, you will listen to what I have to say. When you were warned by Detective Inspector Lestrade to be careful, did you think he was just speaking to hear himself speak?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "No, we didn't think much of anything he had to say, Mycroft, just as I try not to listen to you whenever you speak."

"Don't be childish, brother dear. You would do well to-"

John shifted in his seat, leaning heavily against Sherlock. "Mycroft, do we have to do this now? Some of us haven't had a lot of sleep and your prattle is tedious."

"Yes, perhaps we should discuss this at a better time, John. When you start channeling my brother, it's best not to prod you into any kind of discussion."

"No offense, Mycroft, but sometimes you are a pompous and arrogant arse. It sort of erases the few times you're almost pleasant."

Mycroft's nose rose a bit higher than normal as he turned to gaze out the window. John was pleased that his words silenced him.

"Very well."

Sherlock glanced at his brother, then closed his eyes. He refused to be drawn into an elongated, useless argument. John had it well in hand.

Minutes later they arrived at Baker Street. As they stumbled from the car, Sherlock mock saluted his brother. "Thanks for the ride, Mycroft. We'll have to do it again sometime."

"You are welcome, brother dear. Yes, I hope one day when you are rested, you will realize how close you and John came to disaster."

John tugged at his sleeve, pulling him toward the door. "I think you've antagonised him enough, Sherlock."

"It's never enough, John. In a few days he will make life immeasurably more miserable for us with his constant _I told you sos_."

John giggled, then startled when the door flew open. Still in her nighty, Mrs. Hudson, beckoned them inside, closing the door with a thud. She turned on them as soon as she locked the door.

"One day they are going to drag your bodies out of the Thames and...and…"

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Don't try to put me off young man. You and Sherlock could have been killed. It's a good thing that Mr. Holmes asked me yesterday to pop those electronic things into the lining of your coats. He was so worried you'd gotten into something that was dangerous. He even called on that nice Detective Lestrade to find you."

Sherlock looked from Mrs. Hudson to John and back to their distraught landlady. Taking the seventeen stairs two at a time, he left John to soothe Mrs. Hudson's annoyed, yet motherly admonishment.

~0~

Once Mrs. Hudson was off to a few hours of sleep, John dragged himself up the stairs to the flat with every intention of doing the same.

After locking the door, John headed for the shower, leaving a trail of clothes in his wake. At the bedroom door, his conscience got the better of him, so he picked up his and Sherlock's and dropped all of it at the foot of the bed.

Sherlock was already in the shower; John nudged his way in.

"Too exhausted to wait."

"You are always welcome, John."

"I just need to get some sleep."

"I'm proud of you."

"Why?" John asked from under the stream of water.

"More than thirty-six hours without sleep and you are still upright and semi-conscious."

"Thanks, but I don't think I can stay conscious much longer. I can't do what you do."

"Here, let me help."

With a flannel and a generous squirt of bath gel, Sherlock lathered John from forehead to feet in a matter of seconds and shampooed and rinsed his hair.

"Sherlock?" John groaned, leaning his forehead against the detective's chest and circling his arms around his slender waist.

"Yes, John?"

"I need to get out. I need to lie down."

"All right."

Sherlock steadied John when he stumbled getting out of the shower, buffed him with a towel, and while the doctor brushed his teeth, Sherlock dried himself, brushed his teeth and finger combed his riot of dark curls.

In the bedroom, Sherlock turned down the duvet and tucked John beneath it. Slotting in against the doctor, chest to chest, Sherlock held him close. Against his shoulder, John sighed his deepest sigh.

"This case was-"

"Ridiculously tedious, John. Everything about it was hateful."

Over a yawn, John said, "Well, not everything."

"Yes, we did manage to escape."

"Sherlock?"

"How they did not know about the boot release, I will never understand. Idiots."

"Sherlock." John sighed against his neck.

At John's tone, Sherlock stopped speaking. He tipped his head back to see John's face and the brow that furrowed in gentle disapproval.

"Yes, John. If it hadn't been for Mycroft's pointy nose poked into our business...again-"

"We'd still be hiding...under that stupid...bridge...cold, numb and...cold."

"Oh, okay, fine. Tomorrow I will have a word with Mrs. Hudson about bugging our coats."

John groaned. "Again, genius, we'd still be under...that-"

"York Bridge, John. They must have been driving around in circles to put us off."

"Sher...lock," John whinged, "can we not talk about the case now? Please?"

The detective fell silent as John wriggled even closer, tucking his head under Sherlock's chin.

"How's the arse?" John asked, giggling against Sherlock's collarbone.

"Ah, a bit tender, John, thank you for asking."

"I still have the dart in my pocket if you would like to have it framed to hang on the sitting room wall. Or maybe in the kitchen? No, here in the bedroom. Maybe above the bed?"

Sherlock refused to comment.

"Sorry."

More silence.

John nuzzled Sherlock's neck once more. "You were pretty cute once the sedative started to-"

"Apology accepted, Dr. Watson."

"Thaaank you, my love."

Sherlock chuckled. "You are such a prat."

"I prefer idiot, if you don't mind. As long as I'm your idiot."

"That goes without saying, John. You will always be my idiot."

"Oh, Sherlock, my life is complete but for one thing and one thing only at this moment in time."

Sherlock held his doctor tighter, smooshing John's face into his shoulder. "And what is that one thing, my swooning dove?"

John choked, tilting his head back to gaze up at him.

"Swooning dove?"

"Perhaps it's the sedative, John. One last push. Tell me what one thing you need right now to make your life complete?"

John's eyes slid closed, but he smiled his best smile, the one for only Sherlock.

"John?"

"Hmm?"

Sherlock pressed his lips against John's ear. "What do you need right now to make your life complete? Don't fall asleep until you tell me...John?"

John's head fell back, his mouth slightly open. A moment later, soft snores reached Sherlock's ear.

"Idiot. My idiot."

John twitched as though startled. "Sher...lo...ock?"

"Right here, John."

"Give us a kiss, love?"

Holding his doctor's face with one hand, Sherlock locked his mouth onto John's. For a moment, John responded, his blue eyes opening just a bit. He moaned deep in his throat and slipped away.

Unwilling to break the kiss, Sherlock drew John's small breaths into his throat and lungs.

"Wrong again, John. It's because of you. Everything is because of you. I don't give you enough of myself. You give everything to me and for me. You always stay. I am the one whose life is complete."

John sighed, reaching for him, slipping his arms and legs around him, holding on to him.

"Mycroft is going to remind us until the end of time that he had to rescue us twice in a month's time," Sherlock said to the room because John wasn't listening.

"Yeah, but-" John began, listening in his sleep.

"But what?"

"Your brother had help. Mrs. Hudson bugged us and he asked Lestrade for help, too, so he didn't really do it all on his own. Could be he'll be too embarrassed to mention it again. He had to ask a lowly Yarder to help him. That wouldn't look very good if anyone were to find out about it."

"Why John Watson, I never realized you had such a devious mind."

"Yeah, well, you know, living with a genius detective, some things are bound to stick. I know your methods..."

Sherlock gathered John into his arms. "Love you, John."

John shifted just enough to lock their bodies together, one melting into the other as the world beyond their window got about the business of the day while the world's only consulting detective and his faithful blogger slept on.

A/N Had a long, terrible time getting this story posted. Somehow the word count here is 100+ more than in my original document. I have read this over three times and have found nothing amiss. I apologize. If anything jumps out at you that I just can't see, please let me know and I will edit it. Thanks much. :)


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